Let’s Be Real: Is it Hazing or Helping?

I can remember reporting to my very first unit like it happened just yesterday. I was a brand new Private First Class and I had just spent the last month back home doing “hometown recruiting.” I drove all morning, just over eight hours, dressed in my Class A uniform. My 1999 Firebird was stuffed full with everything that I owned...which wasn’t a whole lot. I arrived at Fort Hood, Texas a little later in the afternoon than I had wanted, but I wasn’t worried. What I didn’t know then about the Army was that I wasn’t just going to walk up to my unit and that would be it. Nope. Instead, I would spend almost the entire first week attached to the replacement battalion. Meeting my new unit was going to have to wait.

When I finally did arrive at my new unit, it was a much different experience than I thought it would be. I was so used to the hustle and bustle of basic training that when I was actually treated somewhat like a human being, it caught me slightly off-guard. My unit was actually deployed, and had been for some time, when I arrived. We new guys were immediately thrust into more training in order to get us ready to ship out in the very near future. I was excited. Of course it wasn’t without the usual learning curve, but I made it through the classes and exercises well enough. In two or so months’ time, I was deployed to Iraq to link up with what would be my troop. This is where it all began...

I never had a real problem with hazing. It wasn’t a new concept to me, as we had experienced a level of hazing in high school during JROTC activities. Laugh all you like, but the structure and training of JROTC is actually a great representation of the military in a microcosm-like form. I had learned when I was a freshman in high school that hazing was less about being a dick for the sake of being a dick, and more about putting someone through a crucible. It was a way of allowing the newest members of your unit to prove themselves worthy. I was up for the challenge.

Unlike some of my peers, I had a difficult time earning that worth. I wasn’t nearly as physically fit as the rest of the guys and in my MOS, that was a big no-no. In addition, I was very outspoken. In many areas this may have been a plus, but for anyone who knows the military, being an opinionated and outspoken private is possibly one of the worst things that you could be. I was put on detail after detail; KP for days on end, burning shit both morning and night, and let’s not forget the twelve hour shifts in the TOC. I was kept as an outsider for quite some time. I was also “smoked” my fair share due to my uncontrollable habit to open my big mouth. Even through all of this though, I tried my best to keep my chin up and get through it. This was the military after all and what was I to expect? We were quite literally tasked with keeping one another alive and to shoot the bad guys in the face! That’s a big deal, especially for a little 18 year old kid. Then, after months and months of blood, sweat, and tears, it all changed.

I no longer was the butt of the jokes, the victim of details, or smoked for no apparent reason. We were back in garrison and, although I cannot pin down the exact moment that it ended, I can remember the phase where it all seemed to go away. I wasn’t an outsider any longer! I was still a young PFC, but in between details, classes, etc., I could be found in the smoking area with peers and seniors alike, hanging out and joking, just another member of the group. The amount of pride that I felt to finally be included in this club was of so much that I still can’t even begin to explain. Yes, I was proud when I had graduated high school. Of course, I was ecstatic when I donned my beret at OSUT graduation. Putting on my combat patch for the first time gave me one of the biggest smiles that I have probably ever worn. But to not just be a soldier, but to be accepted by my peers in my chosen profession - the feeling was absolutely indescribable.

Soon, we began to get new guys into the unit. Fresh FNGs (Fucking New Guys) trickled and flowed into our ranks and I watched as they were hazed. They were put through the same crap that, just a little while ago, I had gotten through and I understood. I will not lie, I joined in on it. So did all of the other guys that I had come to the unit with. It wasn’t about just being a prick to some unsuspecting teenager (because not all of them were teenagers). It was a test. The Army has their test to see if you can do the job; that is was basic training and AIT are for (or OSUT for my Combat Arms brethren). But the world has its own test to ensure that I know I can trust you to do what you were trained. So I know that I don’t have to worry about you cracking under the pressure. Because if you are unable to handle a few push-ups, or a few punches to the chest when you get a promotion, or a practical joke here and there - if you are unable to handle these things, what makes me think you can handle the real rigors of this job when it really matters?

I have heard a lot of people defend the idea that hazing is horrible, that it is a crime and people that conduct this fowl activity should be punished. I have only this to say to those people: The military does not care about your feelings. The military is in the business of killing people. If you cannot handle a little hazing, you shouldn’t have put on a uniform in the first place. Go back to your safe space and let the real men and women do real work.